


Night Will Fall

by hypercharles



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is a smol bean, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Rape, Realistic handling of traumatic events, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, We love him, hospital visits, vague mentions of Peter/mj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypercharles/pseuds/hypercharles
Summary: Tony and Peter are captured by a man who wants something from Tony, and he's not afraid to use Peter to get it.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 77





	Night Will Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this takes place vaguely post endgame, but like, obviously tony is still alive, because lets be real for a minute: endgame set up some real shitty canons. Like seriously, what the actual fuck am i supposed to do with endgame???? Ugh i could go on a whole rant about how much i hate what endgame did to tony, steve, and peter specifically and teh restof the characters in general, but i dont have the time or the energy for that rant right now.

_Demons run when a good man goes to war  
Night will fall and drown the sun  
When a good man goes to war  
  
Friendship dies and true love lies  
Night will fall and the dark will rise  
When a good man goes to war  
  
Demons run, but count the cost  
The battle's won, but the child is lost_

* * *

The human foot is basically a tripod. The big toe, pinkie, and heel act as the three balancing points.

Of course, you can balance with only two out of the three, but it takes time for the body to adjust.

These are the thoughts swirling through Peter’s head as his big toe is neatly sliced off. In between the screaming and the _pain pain pain oh god—_

He forces himself to bite off the scream. He doesn’t want his torturer to see how shaken he is.

Doesn’t want Tony to see how shaken he is.

He looks across the room, where Tony is bound to a chair. His face is red and his voice is hoarse from all the threats he’s been issuing towards the thug.

Although, this seems to be a bit too elaborate of a plan to consider this man a thug.

Peter pants for breath, trying to regain some sense of composure.

“I’m—I’m okay, Mr. Stark,” he breathes. Peter turns his face though, trying to hide the tears running down his cheeks.

The man tuts and grabs Peter’s chin, forcing him to look up.

“Such a pretty face, Peter,” he croons. “Don’t hide it away.”

“Get your fucking hands off of him,” Tony demands.

The man laughs. “Really, Stark. Did you expect that to work?”

Tony just glares as the man runs a hand through Peter’s hair.

“I’m warning you, Andrews,” Tony growls, although they all know that this is an empty threat.

Andrews grins and leans over Peter to stage-whisper in his ear. “He’s a bit cranky.”

Peter says nothing, trying not to acknowledge what’s happening.

“Maybe this is the way to convince you,” the man muses, tightening his grip in Peter’s hair. His smile is too wide, too hungry.

Peter closes his eyes. This is a mistake, because he’s startled into giving a yelp when Andrews sits on his lap. The man is straddling Peter, and Peter gives another involuntary whimper when he feels the bulge—

He forces that away, focusing on what Andrews is saying.

“You build me bombs, Stark, and I won’t fuck your boy.”

Both Tony and Peter flinch at this.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Tony shouts. He’s dangerously close to panicking, which won’t help anyone. “What makes you think this will end any better than the last time someone tried this?”

“For one thing,” Andrews says, popping the button of Peter’s jeans suggestively, “I have better bait.”

Peter takes a shaky breath. “Fuck you,” he manages.

Andrews just smiles, and then he steps on Peter’s foot, digging his heel down. The stub that was once Peter’s toe flares with pain. Peter barely chokes down a scream, his vision blurring dangerously.

When Peter can finally think again, he’s realized something.

Andrews is going to get what he wants. The only uncertainty is how long it will take, and how much it will hurt. Peter can’t overpower him, can’t _Spiderman_ his way out of this one.

Not without Tony getting hurt.

No way Peter breaks free of the restraints, subdues Andrews, and gets Tony free before any of Andrews’s partners gets a shot off.

* * *

Tony has never been more scared in his life. Sure, countless horrors have happened to and around him, even because of him, but this—this is _Peter._

And Tony doesn’t have any idea how to get out. Andrews isn’t stupid. He’s not going to have Tony literally build a bomb. There will be no lifesaving inventions, no _Iron Man,_ to get him out of this mess.

Tony will either design a bomb that will kill countless people, or he will watch Andrews torture, rape, and most likely kill his baby boy. His son, even if not by blood.

Peter catches Tony’s eye, and the fear on his face shatters something inside Tony. Peter’s gaze, though, is determined, his words deliberate.

“I trust you, Mr. Stark.”

And fuck, if that isn’t a punch to the gut. Here’s Peter, trusting Tony, the man that put him in this position in the first place.

“I trust you, Tony,” Peter repeats, and his use of Tony’s first name burns. “No matter what, Mr. Stark. You have my trust.”

Tony doesn’t deserve this trust. Not from Peter. Not for this.

Nothing Tony can or will do could possibly be okay.

“I trust you, Mr. Stark. No matter what.” Peter’s voice is hard, final.

Tony swallows, a tear running down his face.

Andrews dips a hand into Peter’s pants impatiently, making Peter jump. “I’m waiting, Iron Man. Who are you _saving_ today?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony croaks. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”

He takes a breath, desperately trying to find a solution that just isn’t there.

“I can’t—I can’t design this bomb for you,” he says, voice catching and breaking. “I won’t help you murder a whole city.”

“I guess Peter and I will just have to find a way to change your mind,” Andrews gloats, and Tony has never felt more hatred for someone.

* * *

Peter screams. He screams and screams and screams, because this is worse than anything he’s ever felt before.

But he doesn’t beg. Doesn’t ask for it to stop, doesn’t beg for mercy, doesn’t even say no.

He knows that Tony needs him to be strong right now. If Peter begs, it won’t be Andrews that listens.

It will be Tony.

Tony, who will take the first plea as permission.

No.

If Peter begs for this to stop, Tony will give in to Andrews.

Peter can’t let that happen.

* * *

Tony can’t look away. Can’t allow himself to hide from this, not even for a second.

This is his fault. The least he can do is bear witness.

So he watches Andrews defile his baby. Watches Andrews strip the last shred of innocence from Peter. Listens to Peter cry. Tony is so proud of the strength that Peter is showing, proud that he hasn’t let Andrews break him, hasn’t – hasn’t begged.

Tony listens to his own heart break.

He’s Iron Man. He’s supposed to be a hero. Instead, he’s helpless, tied to a fucking chair, watching a plain, ordinary man rape and abuse a child. _His_ child. 

* * *

Peter isn’t really sure when it’s over.

His elbows have been rubbed raw by the cement floor. Andrews had released him from the chair in order to— position him, but had bound his hands behind his back with handcuffs. This had trapped Peter’s arms underneath him, making the whole thing all the more humiliating.

He feels like a doll, laid out for Andrews to do whatever he wants.

* * *

Peter doesn’t move when Andrews finishes. He just lays there, unmoving, barely flinching when Andrews pulls out.

Andrews, ever the paragon of human decency, makes a show out of removing the condom. He tosses it, and it lands with a sickeningly wet sound at Tony’s feet.

“Have I changed your mind yet, Stark?” He asks, grinning.

More than anything, Tony wishes he could say yes. Wishes he could save Peter from further pain.

But Peter’s voice, strong and firm, plays in Tony’s head. _I trust you._

“I won’t build you a bomb,” Tony says.

_No matter what, Mr. Stark._

Andrews sighs. He whistles, and three men enter. One immediately points a gun at Peter’s head. Tony doesn’t even notice one of the others undo his own bonds. Tony’s stomach has twisted, and his vision has blurred at the edges.

_I trust you, Tony._

All he can see is his brave little boy, bloody and beaten, staring down the barrel of a gun.

_No. Please god, no. Don’t let this be the end._

Andrews sighs again.

_He doesn’t deserve this, please don’t let this be his last memory—_

“I guess I’ll see you both in the morning for another round,” Andrews says, and Tony goes limp.

He sees a key fly towards him, and by the time he’s caught it, the men are gone.

* * *

Peter is vaguely aware of someone removing the handcuffs from his wrists.

“Peter, oh god,” a voice says.

He knows that voice.

“Mr. Stark?”

A breath. “Yeah, kid. It’s me,” the voice says.

Peter tries to sit up, but immediately regrets it as pain flares between his legs.

“Hey, take it easy; I’ve got you,” Tony cautions. Peter opens his eyes to see Tony’s tearstained face.

“I’m sorry,” Peter blurts out. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t—I didn’t want you to see that.”

Tony makes a choked sound. “Peter, baby… this isn’t your fault. Not at all.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, I—You shouldn’t have had to watch that, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry you had to—”

Tony cuts him off. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that, kid. He—You—You’re the one hurt, not me.”

Peter just shakes his head again. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Tony wants to scream. This isn’t fair. Peter’s just been—just been raped—and he’s apologizing to Tony?

Fuck.

Tony pushes the anger and sorrow away to focus on more important things. “Let’s get you cleaned up, kid,” he says softly.

Peter flushes red, and a few tears escape his eyes. His thighs are streaked with blood, and there’s no doubt – other substances—as well.

Tony doesn’t say anything. He just searches for something to help.

He finds a first aid kit, some towels, and a case of water bottles. Clearly one of the men had brought them in while Tony was distracted by—

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Now is not the time for PTSD. He cannot afford a flashback right now.

He forces the panic down, and gets to work.

* * *

Tony blessedly starts with Peter’s foot, cleaning the wound and wrapping it with gauze. He does the same for the floor-burns on Peter’s elbows.

Then comes the hard part.

Peter can’t think about what Tony’s doing between his legs right now. The shame is too painful. So instead, he just watches Tony’s face, not letting his gaze stray to where Tony is methodically cleaning the blood off of Peter’s—

“Who is he?” Peter asks, to break the awful silence,

Tony pauses for a second, grabbing a new towel and wetting it.

“He—his name is Scott Andrews,” Tony starts, “He used to—be a partner of Stark Industries, before—before Iron Man happened. His corporation basically took control of the war business after I stopped making weapons.”

Peter bites his lip. “So—so you worked together?”

* * *

Tony flinches. “No!” he forces himself to take a breath. “No, he and I—I never could get used to his—blood lust, I guess. He likes the destruction his weapons cause just as much as the money they make him.”

He’s finally finished cleaning the blood up, so he helps Peter get his pants back on.

Then, because Tony can’t stop himself, he gathers Peter into his arms. He goes slow, making sure not to hurt Peter by moving him too jerkily. They end up against the wall, Peter cradled in Tony’s lap, head resting against Tony’s heart.

“Why is he doing this?” Peter finally asks.

Tony kisses the top of Peter’s head, rocking him slightly. “I don’t know, Pete. I don’t know.”

* * *

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

Every day—sometimes twice a day—for a solid week.

Each time, Andrews is a little more cruel, a little more violent.

Each time, Peter cries a little quieter, screams a little less. He’s becoming dangerously numb.

Each time, Tony cries a little harder, protests a little louder. He can’t keep watching Andrews do this. But every time he wants to break, he hears Peter’s voice.

_I trust you, Mr. Stark. No matter what._

And so, he holds steady. He refuses to design anything for Andrews, and he watches Peter pay the price.

His sweet little boy, bruised and bloody.

Peter has learned to black it all out. To let his mind go somewhere—anywhere—else.

So when Andrews stops thrusting into Peter’s mouth, it takes Peter a moment to register that the movement has stopped. He tries not to zone in too much, because it could be that Andrews is just forcing Tony to memorize what the position looks like (he’s done that several times).

Apparently that isn’t what’s happening this time.

* * *

Tony can’t take it anymore. He can’t do it.

It’s not Peter’s screams that finally did it.

It’s Peter’s glassy-eyed stare as Andrews abuses him.

It’s Peter’s soft gasps that never actually turn into groans.

Tony is watching Peter fragment, watching the little boy slip away, watching some broken husk replace him.

It’s Peter’s dry eyes, how he hasn’t shed a tear in days.

It’s Peter’s silence, how he won’t say a word, not even to Tony. He just sits in silence, never protesting, not anymore.

Tony won’t let his boy be reduced to dust.

_Not again._

* * *

“I’ll do it.”

Andrews lets go of Peter’s hair, and Peter drops to the ground, barely able to stop himself from faceplanting.

“You’ll design me a bomb?” Andrews asks, confirming.

“Leave Peter alone, and I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, okay?”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter croaks. His voice is hoarse from abuse and disuse. “Mr. Stark, don’t.”

Tony won’t look at Peter. “Get me drafting paper, schematics, all the data you have, and I’ll mock something up. Just—just don’t hurt him, not again.”

Andrews smiles. “Of course, Tony. Whatever you need.”

With that, he leaves the room.

Peter lays there, stunned. “Mr. Stark… how—why?”

* * *

_I trust you, Mr. Stark. No matter what._

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Tony says softly. He knows what he needs to do. “This wasn’t the right thing, not anymore. We aren’t going to think our way out. I gave the team time to find us. They haven’t. You trusted me to make the right call then, trust me that this is the right call now. I’m doing what needs to be done to get us out of here.”

Peter nods. “Okay, Mr. Stark. I trust you.”

And fuck, that hurts worse than before. Tony can feel the panic creeping in, and desperately tries to force back the tears.

Tony basically made Peter’s week worth of sacrifice all for naught, and Peter still trusts him?

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry. But I can’t watch him keep doing this to you. Not when I can do something to stop it. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Peter crawls back into Tony’s lap, and Tony’s heart melts. “Mr. Stark, I trust you, no matter what. That means that I trust you to know what you’re doing. I’m not angry.”

Tony shuts his eyes against the tears welling in them. “Oh, baby, what did I do to deserve you?”

* * *

Tony knows better than to try to sabotage the designs. Andrews might not be smart enough, be inventive enough, to come up with such a large-scale device on his own, but he is smart enough to spot any flaws in the design.

No, Tony has to do this right.

Peter tries to suggest non-lethal methods of neutralizing an entire city, mainly using different types of his own webbing, but Andrews won’t accept anything that isn’t permanent.

So Tony does what Tony does best.

He builds.

He drafts and revises and redrafts, scraps and starts over.

Peter helps him with calculations, and Tony can’t escape the guilt that hangs over his head. Peter shouldn’t be anywhere near this. He can’t let Peter think he’s even slightly responsible for the damage this bomb will create.

But Peter refuses to sit this out. So, Tony assigns him to calculations, double-checking the validity of Tony’s designs, rather than making any of the designs himself.

Andrews laughs when he sees Peter helping Tony. “So, he’s good for more than just fucking, huh?”

Both Peter and Tony stiffen at this, but neither responds.

“I should have known you only hang around prodigies, Stark. Think he’ll make a good little Stark-ling after this? Think your little pet will be able to look you in the eye?”

“He’s not my pet,” Tony bites out, still not looking at the man. Peter dutifully continues doing his complicated equations by hand, as Andrews won’t let them have anything more tech-savvy than a scientific calculator.

Andrews laughs again. “No? Why else would you keep a kid around?”

“Not for any of your perversions,” Tony says darkly.

“I find it hard to believe you’d be interested in such an ordinary boy, Stark,” Andrews persists, as if Tony hasn’t said anything. “Geniuses aren’t as rare as people think, and a man like you must know several that are more experienced than a high-schooler.”

His voice is laced with genuine confusion and curiosity, and Tony realizes something with a start.

Andrews doesn’t know who Peter is.

He thinks Peter is just an intern, a kid lucky enough to catch the attention of Tony Stark by chance.

One glance at Peter shows him that the kid has realized the same thing.

If they can find a way to use this, a way to exploit the wrongful assumption, maybe they’ll find a way out.

* * *

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly, “if he doesn’t realize I’m—you know—maybe he hasn’t made the building _Spider_ proof.”

They aren’t sure if Andrews has bugged their “room,” but better safe than sorry is, well, not _Tony’s_ motto, but it is someone’s motto, and it certainly applies in this situation.

“That’s certainly a possibility, but I wouldn’t risk your life on an assumption, Pete.”

The two of them try to think through different escape plans, but nothing seems viable. Tony shuts down any plan that puts Peter in the line of fire, and Peter shuts down any plan that leaves Tony behind.

So really, there aren’t many plans left.

* * *

Andrews seems to like making Peter as uncomfortable as possible.

He always stands directly behind Peter, barely an inch away, so that Peter can’t help but feel him against his back.

It drives them all nuts, especially when Andrews’s hands start to wander.

He has one hand down Peter’s pants before Peter can even register what’s happened, and he freezes.

“Get the fuck off of him!” Tony explodes. “I’m designing your fucking bomb, so you better keep your side of this bargain!”

He’s livid. Furious.

Scared.

Because Peter isn’t fighting.

Isn’t trying to get away from the unwanted touches.

He’s just taking it. Eyes slightly glassy and breathing just a bit too fast.

Andrews laughs, and Peter flinches hard.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t taking so long, Stark. Can’t blame me for needing to keep myself entertained.”

Tony’s temper snaps.

“You wouldn’t need something to entertain yourself if you did your own goddamn work and didn’t kidnap teenagers in order to blackmail old business partners into becoming accomplices to mass fucking murder. Get your fucking hands off him or so help me God—”

“What, Stark?” Andrews smirks, and the motion of his hand in Peter’s pants is unmistakable. Peter flushes red, then white, and then shuts his eyes.

“No,” he murmurs, but it’s drowned out by Andrews’s voice.

“What will you do now that you haven’t done yet? I highly doubt there’s anything that’s changed since the last time your boy had some fun with me. So get to work, and maybe I won’t take this any further.”

“No,” Peter says again, and this time his voice is loud enough for both men to hear.

Andrews stops moving momentarily, and it’s enough for Peter.

He jerks out of Andrews’s grip, using the momentum to shove him up against the wall.

“I said no, you piece of shit,” Peter hisses. The scared little boy is gone, and all that’s left is anger. “I said no! You don’t get to touch me, not now. That shit is over.”

Andrews laughs nervously. “What makes you so sure your opinion matters?”

Peter twists Andrews’s arm up behind his back, making the man flinch. “It matters because you’ve done enough. You took what you wanted, and now Tony and I are helping you become a terrorist. So no, you won’t be taking it any further, because I. Am. Done. Fucking deal with it, but deal with it at least 10 feet away from me, because I am not your toy, and if you keep this up, the deal is off. I don’t care if you kill me, but if you touch me again, this bomb will never leave Tony’s mind, do you understand me?”

Andrews says nothing. Peter grits his teeth, then presses Andrews even harder into the wall. Tony can hear the man’s ribs creak.

“Yeah, sure, Kid,” Andrews finally pants, and Peter lets go.

As soon as Andrews’s arm is free, he whirls around, glaring at both of them.

“Get back to work,” he snaps, and then he’s gone.

* * *

“Well, that answers one question,” Peter says, as if Tony isn’t staring at him, mouth agape.

“Peter—you—that was insanely risky.”

Peter shrugs. “I’m not—I’m not a helpless victim, Mr. Stark. Letting him fuck me to potentially save a city? That’s one thing. Letting him touch me while we’re doing what he wants? Totally different.”

“You didn’t let—that was rape, Peter.”

Peter won’t look him in the eye. “It’s not—I could’ve—I let him do that, Mr. Stark. We both know I could have stopped him. But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t because you didn’t have a choice, Peter, not really. Just because he didn’t physically overpower you doesn’t mean you were complicit.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but Tony can see him trying to reconcile this.

“Mr. Stark—I can’t. Not now. Once we’re out of here, I’ll freak out and we can play therapy, but I—I don’t think I can handle this right now.”

Tony sighs. “What did it answer?”

Peter raises an eyebrow—jeez, he’s starting to act way too much like Tony—and then follows the conversation.

“Oh, um—the guys with guns? They aren’t here anymore.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if he had a bunch of armed thugs, they would’ve tried to blow my head off, or your head off, the second I laid a hand on him.”

Tony considers this. “As much as I hate what that implies about the potential risks of that little stunt, I have to agree.”

Neither says anything as they think this over.

* * *

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t fucking matter, and that’s what pisses Tony off the most.

He hates being the victim.

Hates having to be rescued.

But being rescued too goddamn late to save Peter from one more trauma?

That’s just fucking cruel.

* * *

Andrews calls Peter’s bluff shortly after the shoving-him-into-a-wall incident.

The gunmen are back, and Peter goes white when he sees them.

He knows what’s about to happen.

Andrews storms in, shoves all the drafting paper aside, and gets right up in Peter’s face. The gunmen train their weapons on Tony, leaving Peter with no choice but to submit.

Andrews has him on his hands and knees within moments, and Peter crumbles.

There’s no need to put on a brave face now, he thinks.

The worst has already happened.

* * *

Tony vomits.

He can’t help it, bending over and dry heaving onto the floor.

Peter is screaming, crying, _begging._

“No! No! Stop! Please, I don’t want—I did what you wanted, please!”

Tony heaves again.

“Shut up, bitch. You asked for this. Beg for me, Peter. Beg all you want. You. Wanted. This.”

“No!” Peter shrieks, his voice cracking.

Tony starts forward, but immediately has a gun in his face.

It seems to go on forever.

Peter’s a sobbing, bloody, incoherent mess by the time Andrews is done.

Both captives realize that Andrews isn’t wearing a condom moments after it’s too late to do anything about it.

Peter goes quiet.

“Apologize,” Andrews says, standing up.

Peter says nothing.

Andrews kicks him, and Tony lets out a startled noise.

Peter bites out, “I’m sorry.”

Andrews smirks, and then walks over to Tony, not bothering to zip his pants.

“I’m sure this is enough motivation for you to pick up the pace?”

Tony nods, not trusting his voice.

As soon as Andrews is out of the room, Tony rushes over to Peter, who’s still crying silently.

“oh God, kiddo,” he breathes out, trying to assess the damage. “I’m so sorry, Peter. This is all my fault.”

Peter shakes his head. “Just—help me up?”

Tony cringes. “Pete—”

“I know.” Peter’s voice is hard, almost angry. “I know, Mr. Stark, but I’m not going to lay here half-naked so can you just—can you just help me up and get dressed and I can pretend this never happened until I’m in spitting distance of a shower?”

Tony breathes, just breathes, for a few moments. Then, he nods, and he helps Peter up.

There’s no point trying to convince Peter to take a break, so the two start gathering up the papers again.

* * *

It’s that same evening when Captain Fucking America kicks in the door. Tony feels a wave of relief, and then a surge of anger. _Where the fuck were you a few hours ago?_

But he doesn’t say anything.

At least he’s here now.

At least Andrews won’t be getting the bomb.

Peter’s sacrifice isn’t for nothing.

* * *

Peter hates hospitals.

Hates them with a burning passion.

Too many bad things happen in hospitals.

Hell, the last time he was at a hospital it was to stop a nurse from jumping off the roof. Apparently, she had fucked up some paperwork, and an allergy hadn’t been listed, and a patient died.

The nurse had felt so guilty that she tried to kill herself, and Spiderman was only barely able to get her off the ledge. As far as he knows, she’s still in the psych wing at that very same hospital.

In any case, Peter desperately just wants to go. Home, the tower, a pizza place, literally anywhere that isn’t the hospital.

Unfortunately, his healing factor isn’t enough this time. He actually does need the medical care the doctors can provide, despite how much he hates them.

Tony stays with him, thank god. Does all the talking for him, fills out paperwork, and holds his hands while the nurse does a rape kit.

He thinks that’s the worst part.

Tony gives the nurses a detailed description of the events of the week, giving a thorough account of each assault. The nurses take notes, and Peter nods along when prompted. Then they start documenting injuries, asking about the origin of each one.

Then they start asking more questions, saying that this time Peter needs to be the one to answer.

“Are you on any medications?”

“No.”

“Your dad here has told us about what happened. Is he correct in saying that the man used a condom each time aside for the most recent assault?”

“Yes.” Tony squeezes Peter’s hand when the nurse swabs _down there don’t think about it Peter oh god_

“And there was only one attacker for the sexual assaults?”

Peter nods.

“Can you give examples of the assaults?”

“He—um, he raped me—”

“I have to ask that you be specific, so we know what to look for in terms of injury.”

Peter grimaces. “About a dozen rapes were penetration of my—um—he put—“

“He forced Peter to engage in anal sex,” Tony says, his voice thin and angry.

The nurse nods, but then looks back to Peter.

“He—um, sodomized me with—with his hand at least twice,” Peter says softly. “And he made me—fuck this, sorry, he made me suck his dick several times as well.”

The nurse simply jots it down, unbothered by Peter’s vulgarity.

“Did he wear a condom during oral sex?”

Peter shrugs. “I think so? It… I blocked a lot of it out. I think there was at least one time he didn’t, because he… he made me—” Peter’s voice trails off, his face flushing red. “he made me swallow it.”

The nurse nods, making another note.

“Did he force you to penetrate him at any time?”

“No.”

“Did he force you to ejaculate?”

“No!” Peter snaps, then sighs. “Sorry, I—no, all, uh, fluids, I guess, are his aside from the blood.”

“Have you had anything to eat or drink since the last time you engaged in oral sex?”

“I—I think I’ve drank some water?”

The nurse swabs the inside of Peter’s cheek, and then his throat. He gags a bit, but doesn’t complain.

“I need to ask you about your history. Are you comfortable answering questions in front of your dad?”

This time Peter looks up, starting to say that Mr. Stark isn’t his dad, but then figuring that they probably wouldn’t let Tony stay in the room if they knew he wasn’t actually related to Peter.

“Yeah—that’s okay.”

“Was this encounter your first sexual encounter?”

“No.”

“Do you use a condom during consensual sexual activity?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. Peter flushes pink. “I—uh—haven’t had actual sex before.”

“So in the last year, it’s safe to say you have had no penetrating sex?”

“Yeah—I mean—correct,” Peter says.

“Have you participated in sexual activities in the last few months?”

“Um, I—don’t know how to answer that.”

The nurse smiles. “I consider any sexual activity with a partner or multiple partners to be relevant, including non-penetrative acts.”

Peter won’t look at Tony now. “Um, I’ve, um-- gottenahandjobfrommygirlfriendafewtimes?” he says, all in one breath. Seeing the nurse struggling to figure out what he said, he reluctantly repeats, “My—uh—my girlfriend has given me a few hand jobs, but that’s it.”

Tony can’t help but snicker at this. “Happy owes me $20.”

Peter squawks in protest at this.

The examination goes on, and by the end, not a single inch of Peter’s body hasn’t been photographed or swabbed. 

* * *

MJ and Ned are waiting for Peter when they leave the hospital.

Peter is clutching Tony’s hand, barely an inch away from the other man. Tony spots the two teens first, and laughs quietly.

“What do you say, Peter? Are you ready to see your friends?”

“Can—can we come back to the tower? I’m not—Aunt May—she—”

Tony’s gaze softens. “Your aunt is still on vacation. Happy is under strict orders not to tell her about any goings-on until after it’s all over, to avoid what happened with the guys from last month.”

Peter relaxes. “It’s okay for Ned and MJ to come to the tower, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Tony says. “I’ll have Happy tell them to meet us there, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

MJ practically jumps on Peter when they arrive.

“What the fuck, Parker, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t get hurt anymore,” she demands.

Peter smiles weakly. “Sorry, MJ. Couldn’t help it.”

MJ must realize that he must be hurt more than just the visible bruises. She opens her mouth to say something, but Ned interrupts.

Ned, of course, has zero tact.

“What even happened to you? All we knew is that you were gone and no one knew where you were and Happy said don’t worry the Avengers had it handled which of course made me worry if the Avengers had to get involved—”

“I’m fine, Ned,” Peter interrupts.

“No, you’re not,” Tony says from the kitchen.

Peter glares at the wall between the two rooms, picking a thread on the couch.

MJ sighs. “You can tell us, Peter.”

“I know—it’s just—” Peter groans. “So this guy Andrews wanted Tony to make him an ‘explode-a-whole-city-inator’ like he’s Dr. Doofenshmirtz or something. Tony said no, and Andrews—um—he used me as leverage.”

MJ narrows her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Peter won’t look up from the floor. “He—um, he raped me.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, but he knows they heard him. Ned freezes, and MJ—

MJ doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then,

“Ned, can you give us a minute?”

Ned nods quietly, leaving the room to go find Tony.

“Peter?” MJ says, and Peter flinches.

“You can tell me,” she continues.

“I—” Peter stops and takes a breath. “He raped me, MJ. Every day for a week, and I—that’s all I want to say about it right now, okay?”

MJ nods. “Are you—are you hurt?”

Peter doesn’t have to ask to know what she means. “Just—some bruises, abrasions. Nothing—nothing major. I’ll be sore, and I’m pretty sure I won’t want to eat very many solid foods for a few days, but that’s all.”

MJ nods again. “Can you look at me?”

Peter cringes, but manages to bring his head up. He doesn’t want to see the disgust, the rejection.

“Can I hug you?”

“Yeah,” Peter croaks, half in surprise, half relief. And then MJ is on top of him, arms tight around his shoulders. Peter clutches at her, desperately thankful for the contact.

“I’m sorry,” MJ says. “Not as in, apology, but like, sympathy. I’m so sorry this happened to you, Peter. I’m here for you, no matter what happens next.”

Peter nods, letting a few tears slip out.

“You—it doesn’t bother you?”

“Does it bother me that some shit-stain of a human being forced himself on you? Yes, it bothers me. It bothers me a lot that that happened, that I couldn’t help you.”

“I mean—”

“if you’re about to spout some bullshit about how you’re tainted or whatever you can just shut up, Peter. This doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you.”

Peter slumps a bit. “It is bullshit, I guess.”

MJ laughs, and soon Ned is back, and they’re all on top of each other, laughing and crying and just. Existing. One breath at a time.

* * *

Tony isn’t ashamed to admit that he won’t sleep unless he can hear Peter breathing.

MJ and Ned left after an hour or two, and then Tony and Peter just sat on the couch together, relishing the safety of their surroundings. By the time it was dark, Peter was barely awake.

Tony helps him up the stairs and into bed. Then, he tells Peter to shove over and gets on the bed with him.

“I’m—probably going to wake up screaming,” Peter protests.

“Me too, kid. That okay?”

Peter nods. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

* * *

Peter falls into the nightmares first.

He starts whimpering, moving around restlessly. Tony wakes up when Peter starts crying.

“Hey, Peter, wake up,” He whispers, reaching out to the boy.

Peter wakes with a gasp, and then a sob. Tony just wraps him in a hug, soothing Peter’s panic.

“It’s over now, Peter. He can’t get you here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“What for, kiddo?”

“I—I wasn’t strong enough. I let him—let him use me, break me, in order to get you to—to build that bomb. I’m so sorry.”

Tony smooths Peter’s hair back. “Pete, none of it was your fault, okay? None. Of. It. At all, buddy.”

“But I—”

“You trust me, right?” Tony says, and he realizes that he’s desperate for an answer.

“Always, Mr. Stark, no matter what.”

Tony hugs Peter closer, letting a few tears fall into his kid’s hair.

“Then listen. I don’t blame you. Not one bit. You did—” Tony’s voice breaks, and he has to swallow a sob. “You did so good, Peter. You were so brave, and i—I am so _proud_ of you. And god, if one of us should be blaming ourselves it should be me, alright? You got hurt because he was trying to get to me, and I am so _so_ fucking sorry for that, Peter. I’m so sorry.”

Peter shakes his head. “If I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs weakly. “Is that so, Spider-man?”

Peter nods.

“Andrews—he would have found another way to hurt you, Mr. Stark. I was just there. I’m glad it was me, and not Pepper or—or Morgan—” his voice cracks dangerously. “I think it was best that it was me.”

Tony frowns. “Peter…”

“I’m not suggesting that you love me less than them,” Peter says hurriedly. “I know I’m your kid, okay? I know that. You invented time travel for me, Mr. Stark.”

“Damn straight,” Tony says, glad they’re not about to have _that_ conversation again.

“I just mean, I think this was the best way. This was the only way to give everyone enough time to get to us. Besides, how would Pepper wear all her fancy high heels without a big toe?”

Tony snorts, and then he nods reluctantly.

The two fall into silence, just thinking, and before either realizes, they’re both sound asleep. Pepper finds them that way in the morning, wrapped around each other.

_Safe_ _at last_ their bodies seem to say.

Safe at last.

**Author's Note:**

> wooo you made it to the end! what did you think?


End file.
